


A Day In The Life Of Colin's Shirt

by Rycolfan (Snarryeyes)



Category: Whose Line Is It Anyway? RPF
Genre: Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-14 21:59:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1280287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snarryeyes/pseuds/Rycolfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Title says it all!</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Day In The Life Of Colin's Shirt

**Author's Note:**

> Written back in 2011, inspired by Colin's colourful wardrobe on Whose Line. 
> 
> Pure crack. Don't ask.

It isn’t the greatest start—straight from a shop into a suitcase for a very long journey, and then into a dark, empty wardrobe. I get a brief glimpse of the room, the décor of which suggests that we’re now in a hotel. I haven’t even been tried on yet. Still, the wardrobe is free of clothes moths, mold, or anything else unsavory, which I’m thankful for.

I don’t know how long I hang there for among my brethren—all I know is it’s very dark—but then the doors swing open and, yes! My new owner pushes my neighbors away and reaches for me, slipping me off the sturdy hanger. He dons me with care, swiveling to check his reflection in the full length mirror beside the wardrobe. Short-sleeved and a light, soft cotton, my rosy red shade suits his dark pants and pale complexion. Smoothing his hair, he seems satisfied and turns back to grab the room key from his bedside table before heading for the door.

A healthy breakfast, surrounded by nameless faces and inane chatter, and then we’re in a car, being driven through streets bathed in hot sunshine. Definitely not Canada then. Luckily the air con in the car is preventing my owner from perspiring too much. Several minutes later we stop at some kind of barrier and we’re waved through, pulling up at a large, imposing building.

Many different people greet my owner as he walks through a maze of corridors, and he responds politely to each of them. We’ve barely reached a room that seems to be his very own, judging by his familiarity with it, when a serious looking man with a clipboard appears and engages in a short conversation.

My owner murmurs some sort of assent and we’re off again. I certainly don’t mind more exploration—this is the most I’ve seen of the world so far. More corridors and then I’m in a room full of clothes—a wide variety of styles, shades and textures. I’m so caught up in the myriad of colors that I don’t immediately register the monstrosity of a garment which has been handed over. Hideously garish, I’m offended simply by its close proximity but then my horror deepens even further as it becomes clear that this travesty is to take my honored place. 

I try my best to cling on but, despite my efforts, I slide effortlessly from his shoulders. The monstrosity donned, I’m placed on yet another hanger as tall man enters the room. His shoes rival my owner’s shirt in their glaring intensity. Perhaps it’s some sort of contest. 

After a warm greeting and short conversation, I’m forced to watch my owner leave with the other man. He doesn’t spare me a backwards glance. I will just have to wait again it seems. 

An indeterminate amount of time passes. I’m starting to wonder if this crowded room will be my new home when he finally reappears, looking tired and hot. Looking at the state of my replacement, I’m suddenly glad that he swapped. 

Soon I’m back where I belong—against somewhat clammy skin, but I can live with that—and we’re being driven again, presumably back to the hotel so he can freshen up before dinner. Hopefully he’ll keep me on for that, and then maybe a night out? That would be wonderful.

We’re barely back in the room five minutes, the shower running in preparation, when there’s a knock at the door. It’s the tall man again, thankfully sans garish shoes. There’s a pleasant murmur of conversation as he enters and my owner shuts the door.

Then, abruptly, the world goes dark as I’m pressed against another chest, another shirt, and I can feel the vibrations from two rapidly beating hearts. My new companion is a dark blue color, like midnight sky. The texture of the material is a little rougher, but there’s something comforting about the scent infused within its fibers and our colors complement each other nicely. Hmm. I don’t mind the dark so much now. 

But then light unexpectedly floods back in as the chests part. Strange, alien fingers start to undo my buttons hurriedly, pulling at my delicate material roughly. Hey… wait a minute! I’ve only just reclaimed my rightful place from the gaudy impostor, and the tall man is evicting me again! Oh, the injustice.

I’m carelessly tossed upon the patterned carpet, where I’ll surely wrinkle, abandoned in favor of the warm, pale skin I had been covering. My owner doesn’t seem in the least bit concerned—he appears to be too busy devouring the other man’s mouth enthusiastically. A very strange custom. 

This certainly isn’t the perfect day that I’d imagined. But then, the next moment, my handsome dark companion flutters down to join me, settling gently on top of my soft folds in a caress. 

Perhaps a happy ending after all.


End file.
